Why am I not surprised that these fools—that were severely sacked by St. Jude High School’s tough, strong, resilient football and basketball teams this year—want to go prank them. Again.
“Please, everyone knows those assholes cheated in all their games,” Dante answers, his face still red but he tries to play it cool, folding his arms, purposely bulging his cannon of arms for the prying, girlish eyes to see. He leans back into the backrest of his chair, unable to look me in the eyes, still.
Aww, bless the fool. He was really trying his awkward best to get my attention. Too bad I don’t date. Guys were so far from my mind right now, I’m surprised to even notice their endless advances, let alone be responsive.
“Sure, they cheat every year and with every single school in the state, that’s why they won the notorious state championship game and every other game they’ve played the past ten years, right?” I prompt sarcastically, rolling my eyes.
“Yes!” Brantley starts, getting impassioned on the sour topic that’s been a part of our school for years. “They’re cheating assholes, the whole lot of them.”
“Have you considered that maybe you and your team suck?” I bat my eyelashes at him, enjoying the look on his face.
“That’s a rotten thing to say, Mia,” Brantley growls.
“Whoa,” I hold up my hand, observing my freshly painted nails, something I have to set a reminder to do—just to maintain appearances. If not for the alarm, I’d never be able to keep up with this charade that is high school popularity. “Hold your pony there, B. You know I’m right. Or at the very least, you must have considered that maybe you’re not all that.”
Each year, the hallways of Clintwood always, and I do mean always, has chatter about the tense, unresolved, deep, dark, and cruel rival between my school and St. Jude.
Year after year, there’s always speculation on whether or not we’d finally beat them. In anything.
And well, long dumb story short, we haven’t. It’s that little, bitter yet endlessly constant, loss that makes large, brainless boys a little foolishly offended. And to think it was going to be my school once before the kismet of death…
“You’re wrong, Ice Queen,” Brantley starts, his spit flying out of his mouth. Talk about disgustingly impassioned.
I reel back as he leans over his desk, staring at me with anger in his eyes. “One day, we’re going to find out how they do it, then we’ll expose them for the cowardly motherfuckers they are.”
“Hmm, someone’s a suspicious, sore loser.” I reach over and pat his arm. His anger shifts momentarily to lust.
I wink, playing the game. But I know it’s never going to happen.
“He might be right, Mia,” Dante steps in, glaring at his best friend. “I mean, there must be something they’re doing over there.”
Yeah, practicing and being better. Not to mention they have the star gods on their team.
“Most likely they have the game officials and the ref in their pockets. The Fitz brothers alone can afford to buy out every single family here in Palos Verdes.”
It’s like I’ve just been kicked in the stomach, and that causes a chain reaction. As soon as Brantley mentions their name, I feel my eyes widening as my heart starts pounding and I don’t know how or why, but I let out a little yelp, making the entire class turn to look at me.
“Sorry, I had a soda at lunch,” I murmur.
Lies. I didn’t eat a single thing today. Can’t afford the school lunches here anymore.
“You good, Mia?” Dante asks, looking all concerned for a moment. “You looked terrified.”
“Yeah, you looked like you’d just seen a ghost,” Brantley says, eyeing me.
“Maybe she does see ghosts,” Roxy butts in from the other side of the class. I know she’s looking for a rise out of me.
“You know what Roxy, I think I do, since I’m looking at your pale, cold, heartless self,” I counter, my words laced with a bit of heat that neither of us actually feel toward each other.
Everyone starts laughing and Roxy tilts her head, watching me.
“Aww, then that means I frighten you, doesn’t it?” she counters, her voice sultry and airy—a technique that’s only mastered correctly by the R.A.C.K. “Do I terrify you, Mia?”
“Hmm, maybe not today,” I counter with a smile that matches her real one. “Try next week though. Make sure to add more of that Joker pale make-up, will you.”
I’m totally bullshitting. Roxy Bishop is flawless, in all aspects of her life. She was beautiful, wealthy, poised and she has an ice box where God generally intended for a heart. Hell, I wouldn’t be shocked if her farts smell like daisies and lavenders.
But we weren’t enemies, even though these wide-eyed, trembling, video recording fools, think otherwise.
“Sure, I’ll come over later tonight and get it from your Joker stash,” she smiles. “We all know how you like the dangerous, sick-in the head, vicious types, Harley Quinn.”
My jaw almost drops to the floor because she’s not wrong.
Julian Fitzgerald wasn’t a boy, he was a manly man, about to graduate high school and everything he was just screamed of dark, bad boy vibes. And against all sound reasoning and my better judgement, I think about him all the damn time.
Without even trying, he managed to twist me up inside, messed with my head so that I’d spend hours of the night thinking about him when I should be taking care of my responsibilities. Not to mention, I was the coward who runs away each time I so much as hear a whisper of his name, especially when I knew I’d caused bad blood between him and his brother.
“Aww, look at us, Roxy.” I fake enthusiasm, snapping out of my funk. “It’s like you’re talking about yourself there.”
“Quiet, all of you,” Mrs. Henry, our English Lit teacher calls from the front without looking up. “This work isn’t going to do itself.”
Roxy winks my way and I shake my head back as I turn toward the board. Looks like we just supplied the school with a little weekend gossip.
“What is it with you girls and those jerks?” Brantley whispers behind me. “Every time someone mentions the damn Fitz brothers, you all go bat shit crazy, not to mention a bit stupid.”
“Careful, I don’t think they’d appreciate you calling them stupid,” I mutter over my shoulder. “Or crazy.”
Because they actually do go crazy when they see the Fitz brothers.
From the corner of my eye, I notice girls perking up in their seats, their interest heightened by the mere mention of a name that irritates me.
But then, that name warms me sometimes making my lips tingle when I notice Julian from afar. It chills me when I think he would notice me in the crowd. Then it would thrill me because I’d fantasize that he never forgot me, or about the way he kissed me that day.
Soon after all that mushy rubbish, reality would set in and I’d remember how doomed we were right from the start. I mean, who kisses a wall-punching, angry, asshole stranger?
Even though our schools always have something going on with each other, I haven’t seen Julian face-to-face since the party, but I knew that was coming to an end soon. Even though I stay in the shadows, watching him and his brother from a distance, I’ve heard that Liam asks about me—in a mocking, angry way of course.
I have a feeling that the time is coming where he’ll make good on the promise I saw in his eyes the night he stared me down after his brother ripped him a new one.
A shiver goes down my spine. I have two brothers that might blow my life up at any second, but they’re the least of my concern.
“Mia!”
“What?” I snap.
Brantley scoffs, watching me with narrowed eyes. “Aren’t you also one of those bitches that lust after them?”
Fury, hot and nasty, rises in me. I’ve been told that I have a short temper, something I inherited from my father, which in turn, upsets my mother now since he’s nowhere to be found.
The good news is, I don’t want to be my fathe
r. So, I take two deep and calming breaths, staring up front at the board. On the third, I turn back, with a perfect smile on my face.
“Careful B, the fact that no one lusts after you or wants you quite like all these poor girls do for those brothers you hate so much says more about you than it does about those ‘bitches’ you love to name drop.” I drop my voice to a whisper. “You could learn a thing or two from them, don’t you think?”
“I don’t have a thing to learn from them, Ice Queen. They’re cheaters,” Brantley seethes.
Yup, keep riding that card to make up for your superiority complex.
“We’re going to get proof, then we’re going to bust their asses!” Dante interjects, hyping his friend and they fist bump.
“That’s good for you, then,” I finish, giving them an enthusiastic thumbs up and an exaggerated wink before I turn back toward the front, pretending to listen to Mrs. Henry as my head floods with thoughts of Julian.
When he was with Liam, he was almost human. I could almost see more than just anger in his eyes. I saw concern. Which I caused.
I shiver in my seat again, thinking about Aiden.
I have a neatly wrapped shoebox under my bed where I kept the newspaper clippings of Aiden’s story. One of the papers mentioned that a ‘close female friend’ of the Fitzgeralds confirmed that Aiden had Down syndrome.
I knew it was me they were referring to. And judging by the trashed, ugly puppet on rusty strings with rubber tongue taped to its forehead that I came home to a week after the party, Liam knew it too and wasn’t going to forget any time soon.
I threw up when I saw it the first time, then cried myself to sleep for two weeks, all while wondering when Julian and Liam would come for me for real.
Now I read each newspaper clipping every other week, in the middle of the night, sitting beside my mother’s hospital bed in her large bedroom that’s been stripped of every priceless piece of art it once held, and the gold miniature statues she decorated her room with.
I read them to remind myself of the day I became an emotionless, heartbroken, icy bitch.
“It’s more than good,” Brantley growls and I chuckle.
“All the best, B,” I whisper. “You’re going to need it.”
Everyone starts snickering again.
People know that Clintwood Academy has nothing on St. Jude and quite frankly, no one can touch the golden boys of St. Jude High. The notorious gods of Palos Verdes. They did whatever they wanted, answered to no one. Used, discarded, and never seem to care for anyone other than each other and whoever was in their inner circle.
“That was dry,” Brantley whispers back.
“Ice Queen, remember?” I glance over my shoulder at him, making sure my eyes are wide with innocence.
“Mia, you used to be so into the pranks with the rest of us. And now, you just don’t care,” Dante says, his cheeks still red. Seriously, the guy needs to tone it down a notch. I’m well aware of how he feels about me. Too bad I’m not into the shy, barely-went-through-puberty little boys.
I look away from Dante and catch Brantley’s gaze. The way he watches me almost unnerves me. I wonder what he’s thinking. Does he know something about me?
“Something you want to say, Brantley?” I make sure to lower my voice, making it hard and sharp.
“You know,” he starts, a suspicious look on his face. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you support those assholes of St. Jude.”
I almost sigh in relief. He doesn’t know. Okay. Good.
All eyes turn to me. The guys in the class look hostile, with frowns on their faces. Mind you, most of them aren’t even athletic. And even if they are, most of the shitheads in my class, beside Dante and Brantley, play as third string. In other words, they never play.
The girls watch me, jealousy flashing in their eyes, hanging on every word being spoken. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these bitches is recording me.
“You do, don’t you?” Brantley’s eyes widen as he watches me, his facial features hardening. I look around and notice, he’s not alone.
See, the thing is, no one at Clintwood Academy has the balls, let alone the guts, to stand on the opposition’s side. Supporting them in any way or form is like signing your own high school death sentence.
Because one, you’ll be labeled a traitor, an enemy of the great institution of Clintwood Academy, the best private school in Palos Verdes, after St. Jude High of course.
And two, when the top kids declare anyone a traitor, that means you’re TOTALLY shit-listed. Nobody likes a traitor, but most of all, nobody will ever go against the top tier of the student population. Blacklisted inevitably makes that poor someone a social pariah overnight.
They become a target with a large, red ‘X marks the spot’ target on their back for bullies and every pheromone-lacking asshole in this school to terrorize and get a free confidence boost.
I’ve sat at the head, center table all my years in high school, and watched decrees being made, and soon after, everyone will be laughing at that one person, who would receive in-house special pranks that include the slashing of tires to cruel jokes that hit at one’s self-esteem.
And the miserable list just keeps going on and on until you finally decide to grab a rope and hang yourself.
No big deal, though. It’s just high school.
But the thing is, I wasn’t just anyone in this school. I’m Mia Montague.
I’ve done shit that matters, and well, no one has the balls to get in my face to tell me shit. Unless of course, they want to be severely embarrassed. Like Brantley is trying to do now.
“Hmm, let’s see here. Clintwood had three games with St. Jude this year. One for basketball which ended in, a sad—”
“Don’t say it.” Dante rushes to cut me off and I smile, but I’m not done. If you call me out, you’ll get it.
“The other two games were for football. And as I recall, you told me, Brantley, that you had both games in the bag, buddy, but—” I look around then, knowing I have everyone’s attention and seeing as Mrs. Henry is writing something on the board, talking to herself about Pip. “—you couldn’t even get one touchdown in. The entire game was over in thirty-five minutes, flat.”
“Mia, I swear to God—”
“In that short, short time, you never made a successful play. Your offense was on the sidelines the entire time.”
“You don’t have to repeat that,” he growls.
“But wait, something else happened during that game.” I look around, pretending to think about something that we all know. Something that was recorded and has over 500K views on YouTube. “Weren’t you the one who attempted to sack one of the Fitz brothers, but instead, your nose ended up his—"
“Miss Montague!”
“Yes, Mrs. Henry?” I answer sweetly, turning around, flipping my hair over my shoulder, knowing damn well that I don’t have to finish that little story on how Brantley ended up ridiculed, his face shoved up Liam Fitzgerald’s nuts. For a full minute.
“This is learning time, not recess to gossip,” Mrs. Henry says with a frown.
“I apologize, Mrs. Henry. Brantley and I were just reminiscing.”
The class snickers again and I smile.
“Here’s a suggestion. Why don’t you go down memory lane in your own time, not mine. How about that?” She raises an eyebrow, watching me.
“You’re right. It won’t happen again.” I glance at Brantley over my shoulder. “I think we’ve all been reminded of blissful memories that the world will never forget. Among other things.”
Mrs. Henry scoffs but turns back to the board.
Murmurs rise in the class as I turn back around, trying desperately to hold on to my cool but I’m losing the battle. I watch as Brantley’s eyes flash with anger, making me smile. But inside, I feel empty. I’m tired of all this, but I pretend like I’m still the same old me.
Cold, dramatic, and a pro when it comes to being a class-act bitch.
Whe
n in reality, I have far bigger issues waiting for me at home. Issues that I can’t help, no matter what I do.
“Brantley, I’m not supporting St. Jude. I don’t give a damn about them.” Or who’s on their team for that matter, a fixation that every other girl is obsessed with. “I’m just saying maybe you should lick your wounds in private. Or better yet, keep me out of it. After all, I’m just looking out for your feelings.”
Loud snickers make Mrs. Henry turn around but I’m already facing forward, looking the part of a willful student, paying close attention. The moment she turns back around, people laugh, having gotten their entertainment for the day.
All teenagers want is a good show. Something to gossip about instead of their shit problems, like failing to mature.
A tap on my shoulder makes me turn back around. Noticing the way Brantley is looking at me, I tilt my head to the left, studying him. If I was someone else, someone who actually cared about any form of retribution from this jerk, I would’ve shivered in my seat.
“I don’t know what’s going on with you lately,” he starts after a few seconds, dropping his voice so he, Dante and I are the only ones to hear him. I don’t have a desk partner. Which is a good thing in my opinion. “You’re colder than usual. Make no mistake, Mia, your reign over the school is slipping, and soon you’ll wake up one day and realize you’re not the badass you think you are, sweetheart.”
I frown. That sounded a lot like a threat, veiled in something else. Something that I can’t wrap my finger around. I straighten my spine, the fake smile on my face gone.
“First of all, I’m not and I’ll never—not even if it rained gold hail—be your sweetheart. But then again, we all know you wish, with all your two cent dreams, I was.”
His face darkens with anger again, poor thing.
“And second, you should be worried about your crooked teeth that need braces, B, not my crown. I assure you, it’s still intact.”
The snickers grow louder as I turn away. I don’t have time for all this shit, let alone finding out what people think of me.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that everything this jerk just said is, in fact, true.
Devious Kisses: A Bully Enemies -To-Lovers Romance (It's Just High School Book 1) Page 8
